Agent Morse
by dabbler36
Summary: Bobbi Morse is injured and less scary than usual. Jemma Simmons is solicitous and just as awkward as usual. Cue fluffy flirtiness!
1. Agent Morse

_Mockingbird is a pretty nickname_, Jemma Simmons muses, _but it's a bit of a misnomer_.

Bobbi Morse is more like a big cat (a leopard, maybe) – her movements sure, her focus complete, her power undeniable in motion. Even now, curled up on her bunk with her back to Jemma, she still seems to radiate kinetic intent.

_"__Make sure she stays down," Coulson told Jemma before the team left. "She took a pretty hard hit."_

_"__I can hardly detain her if she doesn't want to stay," she protested._

_Phil Coulson's eyes twinkled, that half-smile firmly on his face as he turned away. "I'm sure you'll think of something, Agent Simmons. You're very resourceful."_

Possibly not resourceful enough to deal with someone who loathes being laid up, is almost a head taller than her, and is considerably stronger. Coulson's trust in her seems misplaced at this very moment. Jemma briefly imagines herself being dragged down the hallway by Bobbi as she futilely hangs onto the agent's foot (all the while protesting rather politely, of course), and the image brings a slight smile to her face.

Clearing her throat as much to get rid of the amusement as to warn the other woman of her approach (she doubts Bobbi needs it, though), Jemma approaches the bunk and puts down the medical kit.

"Agent Morse?"

"It's a scratch," Bobbi crankily pre-empts without turning around. "I have to leave."

"Agent Coulson doesn't seem to think so," Jemma gently counters. "Just let me take a quick look, and we'll have you good to go in no time. All right?"

"Argh. I should be out there with the team." With a groan Bobbi turns around. There's a crimson smear across her forehead and right eye where she's haphazardly wiped away blood, and it makes her look like an ancient warrior. Exotic, fierce - and very _very_ scary. Jemma manages to control the little wobble that briefly besets her knees, but not so much the intense desire to turn around and just run away.

_Stop it_, she addresses herself sternly. _You're not a child, she's very nice, she's not really the Security Chief of Hydra, you like her very much now … and she knows where to find you anyway._

Leaning forward Jemma lightly grasps that obstinate chin and turns Bobbi's face to look at the injury. "You're still bleeding, Agent Morse."

"Then slap a Band-Aid on it!" Picking up on Jemma's involuntary flinch Bobbi closes her eyes and sighs. "I'm sorry, Jemma. You're just doing your job and I'm being an ass. I know. And it's Bobbi."

Jemma nods in acknowledgement, her eyes still fixed on the bleeding gash. "Well, Bobbi, a Band-Aid isn't going to do it this time. You're looking at a couple of stitches – it's quite deep. What happened?"

"That Kree threw me head first into a wall." Bobbi's top lip curls just a little at the memory.

"Ouch. That would do it." Taking a piece of gauze from the medical kit, Jemma applies pressure to the wound. ""I'm sorry, I know it must hurt." She keeps the gauze pressed down, though, making sure to staunch the blood flow as much as possible before she begins to clean the area as gently as possible.

Bobbi's eyelids flicker for a moment, and then she focuses her gaze on Jemma's face. "You have such pretty eyes."

"Oh." Jemma can feel the heat rising in her face. Nobody would ever call her smooth, but around Agent Bobbi Morse her awkwardness seems worse than usual. Fitz once teasingly said she goes all "fangirl" over Bobbi. He forgets almost every other word … but trust him to remember that one. Biting her bottom lip Jemma meets Bobbi's eyes. "Exactly how hard **did** you hit your head, Agent Morse?"

"Hard. Very hard." Bobbi isn't looking away. "But I thought your eyes were pretty the first time I saw you. And it's Bobbi."

"Oh," Jemma says again. _Curse this silly fangirl crush and its silly vocabulary impediment_. "Er. Thank you, Bobbi. You have lovely eyes too." And she does. They're a clear slate grey and they look as if they see a lot more than they should. And when they focus on her like that…

Sternly willing her hand not to shake, Jemma lifts the gauze to take another look. "We could probably get away with a couple of butterfly plasters if you take it easy for a …" Pausing, she looks down at Bobbi and cocks an eyebrow. "Never mind. Stitches it is. Ready?"

"Sure." Bobbi's lips twitch as she closes her eyes.

Jemma sprays local anaesthetic on the area and then deftly works the stitches into the skin, taking care to be as precise as possible. It wouldn't do to mar this face.

Beyond a small flinch here and there, Bobbi remains quiet for the duration of the process.

"You're not asleep, are you, Bobbi?" Jemma skilfully ties off the last stitch and takes another look at her handiwork.

"Nope."

"Good, because you know that's a bad idea with a concussion."

Bobbi lazily peers up at Jemma. "All that sweet talk … and you were really just checking my pupils. Why Agent Simmons, you're a sneaky one."

She knows she's probably as red as a tomato now, but she's not about to let Bobbi Morse get away with that smirk. "But I thought your eyes were lovely the first time I saw you, so it's irrelevant."

"Hah. Touché." Bobbi half-grins.

Fighting the sudden – and very alarming – urge to touch the indentation at the corner of Bobbi's full mouth, Jemma rechecks the stitches instead. "I think this should leave minimal scarring. I hope."

"It won't be the first one." Bobbi's eyes flutter against the gentle touch. "But I'm sure it's perfect."

Jemma's fingers trail off the wound, towards Bobbi's temple. "You must have one hell of a headache." Anything to keep touching that soft skin.

_Get yourself together, Jemma. You bloody idiot_.

"Yeah." Catching the flicker that crosses Jemma's face, Bobbi frowns – or tries to – and quickly clarifies. "Hey, I would've been fine to go with the team. I've had a headache before."

"I'm sure you have." Jemma's fingers keep tracing a light circle on Bobbi's temple.

"Don't agree with me in that tone of voice, Simmons." Bobbi's eyes flutter shut again. "And if you keep doing that then I'll definitely go to sleep."

_Okay, Jemma, stop it. You can't keep petting her. It's so weird. _ Pulling her hand away Jemma awkwardly pats Bobbi's shoulder. "It's fine. I'll come and check on you in an hour." Her hand lingers there just a moment too long, and she tries to cover her awkwardness. Awkwardly. "Bobbi, you don't have any other scrapes … or things … that you haven't mentioned? Just to be sure. Because you don't tend to share this information readily. You know."

Bobbi chuckles. "You're very cute, Jemma."

_Well, that doesn't help at all. I think I'm going to burst a blood vessel._

Clearly she isn't just imagining the red flush spreading over her skin again, because those clear eyes track her face for a moment before Bobbi continues. "I'm sorry, that was unprofessional." She doesn't sound sorry in the least, though. In fact, her mouth is twitching into a somewhat suspect grin. "Let's blame that one on my headache." Bobbi shifts just a little on the bunk, almost as if to test herself. "Yeah. I think I might have cracked some ribs when I bounced off the table."

"You what?" Jemma nearly splutters, amazed to get any feedback at all.

Bobbi's lip curls. "I'm going to kick that Kree's ass **_so_** hard the next time I see him."

"I don't doubt that for a moment." Jemma is already unzipping Bobbi's uniform. "Which side?"

"Right."

Sliding her hand over Bobbi's ribcage under the tight material Jemma gently probes the area, eliciting a wince from the other woman. "Sorry. I don't feel any breaks, but just take it easy for a bit, and no …" She pauses and then shrugs. "Well, I'm sure you've had this before too."

"Yeah. Want to check the left side as well, while you're there?"

Frowning, Jemma shifts her arm to slide her hand to Bobbi's left side. _Such soft skin_. She looks for any signs of pain on Bobbi's face as she gently explores the area, but neither feels nor notes anything out of the ordinary. In fact, there's a slight twist to Bobbi's mouth that she can't quite read.

"I can't feel anything here, Bobbi. Is something hurting?"

"Nope. Just thought it would be safer to be sure." And then Bobbi is grinning, a big old smirk that's quite impossible _not_ to read.

"You ... scoundrel!" Jemma isn't sure she'll _ever_ be a normal colour again. Snatching her hand out of the warm berth – _a little reluctantly, admittedly_ – she zips up the uniform and glares down at the other woman. "I liked you much better when you were serious and scary."

"Hmm. No playful and sexy for Agent Simmons. Only serious and scary." Covering her mouth for a yawn Bobbi cocks an eyebrow. "Noted. Mind if I start tomorrow?"

"You're incorrigible, Bobbi." _Stern voice. Good. Well done. Now stop grinning like a lunatic_. Rising from the side of the berth, Jemma tries her best for a severe look. And fails miserably. "How hard did you hit your head again?"

Bobbi's mouth twitches. "Irrelevant. Again."

_Stern. Severe. Damn it._ "Just … get some sleep. I'll be back in an hour."

"I can't wait."

Jemma is almost through the door when Bobbi's voice rises behind her. "Oh, and Jemma?"

She turns back. "Yes, Bobbi?"

Bobbi is coiled on her uninjured side, one hand tucked under her head like a child, her expression impish. "Call me Agent Morse. I like the way it sounds in your mouth."

Jemma can't actually contain the little giggle that escapes from her mouth, nor the rush of pleasure that floods her when the sound elicits a smirk from Bobbi. Clamping her lips together she shoots Bobbi a recriminating look as she leaves.

"Incorrigible. Go to sleep!" She's already outside the door when she adds "Agent Morse".

There's a chuckle from inside.

Shaking her head, Jemma sets her watch alarm for an hour and rushes back to the lab. Lots of things to do.

And appointments to keep.


	2. Agent Simmons

A/N: "Agent Morse" was supposed to be a one-shot, but I adore these two and couldn't let them go quite yet. Fluffy and flirty strikes again.

* * *

**Agent Simmons**

If you had asked Jemma Simmons five years ago what she thought she'd be doing in the future, she'd have guessed at a third PhD; an incredible discovery in the field of bio-chemistry … maybe even a robust discussion on the Lehninger Principles with some cute co-nerd in flannel pyjamas (if Jemma was feeling a little cheeky on the day you asked).

What she did not have on that list was working for a top secret agency. Also not on that list: Stealing intel from very dangerous people; handling firearms on a regular basis; being in more life-threatening situations in a week than most people have to handle in a lifetime. Oh, and the whole "alien matter" thing.

However, if you'd said "Jemma Simmons, you're either going to travel to space in a souped-up margarine tub, or you're going to find yourself flat on your back with a gorgeous – and very skilled - sweaty six-foot woman stretched out on top of you," she would have said "bring on space" without even the slightest hesitation.

And she'd have been so wrong.

The stunning Amazon in question shifts a little. "How's this?"

The warmth of her breath against Jemma's neck sends skitters of pleasure down the smaller woman's spine, and she can't help the small mewl that squeezes out of her throat. "Well, I've never done this before, so … can you move your hand a little lower?"

She can feel the colour rising in her face, and judging by the grin on Bobbi Morse's face the other woman hasn't missed it. Shifting again, Bobbi adjusts her position.

"Like this?"

"Better." She can barely breathe. "You're … very good at this."

"Mm." Bobbi shakes off the compliment with a shrug of her shoulder. "This one's all about you, Jemma."

It's the way Bobbi says her name. The low tone; the teasing stretching out of the syllables; the way those perfect lips pout on the first letter. The fact that Bobbi's breath smells like spearmint and her teeth are so ridiculously even and her mouth is mere inches away…

"Jemma" Bobbi says again, and this time she's drawing it out as if her life depends on it, her eyes twinkling. "Where are you?"

"Oh. Uh." Tearing her eyes away from that mouth – her senses are on overload – Jemma bites down on her bottom lip to try and regain some concentration. "I don't think I can do this, Bobbi. I'm not strong enough for hand-to-hand combat. I thought I could, but…"

"Hmm." Bobbi's eyes flash down to her mouth for just a moment before she coolly raises her eyebrows. "Well, Jemma, I'm sorry, but I'm comfortable right here."

"It's not that I don't want to learn, but …"

"Jemma."

"We shouldn't even be doing this. Your ribs are…"

"Perfectly fine, as you well know. You had your hands all over them not an hour ago. Jemma."

"You make it sound so tawdry."

"I'm a wishful thinker. Jemma…"

"Let's be reasonable. Everybody can't be good at …"

"Jemma."

Taking a deep breath, Jemma frowns up at Bobbi. "Can't you just call me Agent Simmons?"

There's a moment of silence as Bobbi processes the question, her brow furrowing. "What? I mean, I can if you'd like me to. I didn't think you'd…"

"Oh. No. Wait." The ways in which Jemma Simmons can cause misunderstandings are myriad and swift. She sometimes even surprises herself. "I didn't mean it like that, Bobbi. It's just … " Closing her eyes against the face hovering so temptingly close over hers, she decides to bite the bullet. "It's so _distracting_. When you say my name like that."

"Really?" This time Bobbi doesn't even try to hide her slow smirk. "Well, _Jemma_, I'm sorry to hear that – scratch that, I'm _so_ not – but there are always going to be distractions. No bad guy is going to stop coming at you just because you're finding something a little..." Leaning in, Bobbi holds Jemma's gaze, "_distracting_."

That mouth. Blast it damn it bloody hell. Trying to ignore its proximity Jemma squirms against the iron grip she's caught in. "I can't get out of this, Bobbi. Seriously. You've got me completely pinned."

"I know." That incorrigible twinkle is lighting up Bobbi's golden eyes like fireworks, and she smirks for a moment more before her features settle into something a little more serious. "You have to remember to use your centre of gravity to your advantage. I'm going to let go of your wrist … don't punch me."

"I'd never punch you," Jemma complains indignantly.

Bobbi's eyes crinkle as she smiles down at Jemma. "That's the problem. But don't start now. See," and then she's running her free hand down Jemma's side and cupping her waist, "lift from here. You want to push me off as much as possible."

Her hand is warm and soft, her thumb sliding up just a little under the hem of Jemma's shirt, and for just a moment her eyes change into something a lot less playful and a lot more dangerous as she stares down at Jemma. There's a moment of laden silence hanging about them, before Bobbi blinks and breaks the moment with obvious effort. "Let's just do _this_," she mumbles as she shifts her thumb safely away from the bare warm skin.

"Yeah," Jemma breathes. "That's … better."

"Is it really?"

From this distance Jemma can lose herself in the golden specks flecked through Bobbi's irises. "No," she says before she can stop herself. Then, "Uh. What's next?"

"You move your hips." Bobbi isn't looking away.

A myriad of very unsettling images floods Jemma's mind and she can feel herself flushing a hot red. "Right. I'll just …" She shifts against Bobbi's body and then bucks half-heartedly.

"You can do better than that." The hand against her side creeps up to her bare skin, and then back down resolutely, as Bobbi stares down at her. "One nice hard thrust."

"Bobbi…" It's little more than a breath.

Bobbi's eyes flicker for a moment, narrowing, and then she focuses. "Concentrate, Jemma."

_I __**am**__ concentrating_, Jemma wants to protest, but she supposes that Bobbi means on something other than her lovely mouth, and so she forces herself out of the delicious haze that being around Bobbi Morse seems to inflict on her.

_C'mon, Jemma. Show her what you can do. _

_In this specific context._

_Jemma! Concentrate._

Shifting a little, Jemma hooks her right leg over Bobbi's left ankle, locking it into place. Then, with another little squirm, she brings up her arms. "Knock elbow, push up, roll out," she mutters.

Above her, Bobbi gives a low chuckle. "Here's a tip. Don't broadcast your moves."

"Yes, yes," Jemma mumbles. "It's just you."

"Just me?" Bobbi pauses with a sharp exhale as Jemma delivers a sharp blow to her arm, trying – and failing – to knock it out from under her. "Ow. Lower down – you need to hit more elbow and less bicep."

"It's your fault for having so much bicep!" Trying not to pout, Jemma shoves at Bobbi's arm again without much luck.

"Now you've warned me, so I'm tensing up." There's a slight smile curling around Bobbi's lips as she looks down at Jemma. "You have to mean business from the first move, Jemma." Her golden eyes take in Jemma's face and then linger on Jemma's mouth for just a moment too long.

"Bugger it," Jemma mumbles, and as Bobbi is only starting to say "Excuse me…" she slides her hand around Bobbi's neck and pulls herself up, covering the other woman's mouth with hers. Bobbi's mouth is as full and sweet as she's imagined it a hundred times, and she takes full advantage of the other woman's momentary surprise to sucks that obstinate bottom lip into her mouth. The groan that slips from Bobbi's throat nearly undoes her.

"Jemma…" Bobbi exhales her name.

In that moment, as Bobbi leans down, Jemma shifts her hand from Bobbi's neck and neatly knocks her elbow, and then her arm, out from under her. Pushing Bobbi off-balance she rolls them over deftly, swapping their positions.

Bobbi lies on her back, her eyes dazed as she looks up at Jemma. "I can't believe you just did that."

"It worked, didn't it?" Grinning, Jemma tries her very hardest not to look down at Bobbi's red-kissed mouth. "I got you."

"You got me," Bobbi agrees, still stunned.

All it would take to close the distance between their mouths is leaning forward a couple of centimetres. Jemma glances down at Bobbi's lips involuntarily, and then again. She can't help herself. "As you can see," she murmurs, "I do mean business." Then, to save the last bits of her own sanity, she pushes herself off the other woman – taking extra care where she puts her hands – and makes a show of dusting off her clothes as she stands.

Bobbi stays where she is, flat on the floor, a tiny smile creeping around her mouth. Lifting her arms in a way that makes her shirt ride up (and Jemma's stomach clench very strangely) she lazily puts her hands behind her head and crosses her legs at the ankle.

"I object. You distracted me."

"Well, Agent Morse, I'm sorry to hear that, but there are always going to be distractions," Jemma parrots back Bobbi's earlier words solemnly, biting back a grin.

"I am beginning to realize this." Bobbi's smile widens. "I really hope you're not planning on using that technique in general."

"Well. By the time I need to use this I sincerely hope I won't have to kiss anyone else." Offering Bobbi a smile that's just this side of a smirk, Jemma turns around and walks towards the door. She only dares to turn around again once she's a safe distance away.

"Same time tomorrow?"

"Absolutely." Bobbi's voice is a purr. "I need to keep a close eye on your form, Agent Simmons."

"Call me Jemma. Please."

And then she leaves the room to the sound of low laughter, filled to the brim with promise.


	3. Agent down

**A/N: **Seriously, this was supposed to be a one-shot, and then I couldn't put them down. This is the absolute last chapter, and then I really am done. Really. Seriously. Please be warned that this isn't suitable for younger readers due to shenanigans.

Thanks for reading, agents.

* * *

**Agent down**

Leo Fitz is on his way to the lab, trying to imagine himself with Agent Lance Hunter's haircut. Short, snappy, nothing that will prompt women to say "oh cute" and run their hands through it.

Well, yes, run their hands through it, but not in the puppy-petting way he apparently currently provokes.

But then again, his hair isn't much longer than Hunter's at the moment.

Maybe he needs to wear more leather. Or guns? Will women still consider them sexy if you just wear them but never actually use them? Because Fitz knows, _just knows_, that juggling a gun while stuttering and blinking like a madman isn't going to work.

Maybe metaphorical guns. Training. The last time Hunter had offered Fitz a hand-to-hand training session he'd thrown him clear across the room.

And then Bobbi had scolded Hunter and mussed Fitz's hair and _also_ thrown him clear across the room.

"No pain, no gain, right?" Fitz mutters as he dodges at the last minute to avoid a file cabinet which will be all pain and no gain. Bobbi is scary, very scary – even Jemma who just about likes everyone gets all wobbly around her – but she's also quite nice. What if he asks her to train him but please not to throw him across the room? Jemma has been working with her for a while now and seems a whole lot perkier lately. If anyone can give him guns – _metaphorical guns, that is, but also really the other type as well if he wants them, which he doesn't _– it's Bobbi.

Speaking of, here's her room and he won't bother her right now, he'll just ask when they're both in the canteen.

The last thing he's expecting as he passes by, though, is the sound that drifts through the closed door. It's a low groan, something that sounds ominous and just a little painful. Should he check on her? He doesn't want Bobbi lying in a pool of blood moaning pitifully because nobody thought to check on her, but also this is her room and her private space and what if she doesn't need help and he's just butting in?

He paces past and then back, bumping his hands together helplessly as he looks at the door uncertainly. Another groan seeps through, but just as he's made up his mind to knock Bobbi's voice halts him.

"How's that?"

"Good. Oh. That's …. _really_ good."

The sound is muffled but he can hear entirely enough to realise that actually that's not Bobbi groaning. That's… Jemma. Fitz's mouth opens wide in surprise and he unceremoniously stuffs his right hand in there to keep himself quiet. _What the hell? Jemma?_

"Not too hard?"

Fitz nearly squeaks around his hand.

"Uh… no. Don't stop." Another groan.

A low laugh from Bobbi. "You're not breathing, Jemma. Take a breath before you pass out."

"I blame it entirely on you. Your hands are … ohhhh."

"Breathe."

Caught in front of the door like a deer in headlights, Fitz wonders whether he should try to move away from the door quietly as if he was never there, or just stomp by like he wasn't lingering like some pervert. His brow furrows.

They are causing him severe mental anguish, is what they're doing.

And – he glances down and grimaces – the growing physical turmoil isn't much better.

"Oh!" Jemma suddenly says so loudly that Fitz almost shrieks like a child. "Right there. That's … what are you doing to me, Bobbi?"

"You like that, huh?" Fitz can actually hear the smile in Bobbi's voice. "I'll make a note for next time."

He needs to leave. He **so** needs to leave right now and go to the lab and not think about this ever again, and if he could just get his legs to move he would. If he could just get other things to stop moving… _Oh god._

"Oh god… you're **so** good at that."

_Not helping._

There's a bit of silence, punctuated only by murmurs, and then a long exhalation.

"You're so tight," Bobbi purrs, and that's simply the end of it. Fitz has to leave. He just has to. He's on the ball of his left foot, feeling like a cartoon thief stealing away on his tiptoes, when Bobbi continues.

"Next time don't wait so long to ask for a backrub. And let's take a break from the training tomorrow - you're pushing too hard."

"I just want to get better at it, that's all."

"Fine, but let's slow down the pace a bit. Okay?"

"Okay."

Well. Of course that's it. And he misunderstood the entire thing, and he shouldn't have been here in the first place, and even though he loved – **like** **really loved** – that conversation for a moment there, he needs to get to the lab and be less pervert-like and not hang around Bobbi's door listening to dodgy conversations about sore muscles.

In his excitement to get away – and his general excitement, really – he forgets that he's sneaking, and just ends up ambling in Fitz-mode for ten meters before remembering that he's not supposed to be here.

Okay, maybe his room first, and then the lab. Turning around, he heads back the other way a little less comfortably than before, pausing at Bobbi's door to shoot it a reproachful glance.

* * *

Inside, Bobbi looks over at the door for a long moment before she turns her gaze back to Jemma. "Do you think he bought it?"

"I think so. Good catch."

"Hardly. I could see the shadow of his feet under the door." Feeling Jemma shift under her, Bobbi leans over and graces her with a long slow kiss. "So," she breathes as she pulls back and slides her hand down Jemma's bare side. "Where were we?"

"I believe, Agent Morse," Jemma hums as she arches her body under Bobbi's touch, "that you were just about to slow down the pace."


End file.
